


One in a Million

by myboisasstiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Bad Parent John Winchester, Charlie Bradbury & Dean Winchester Friendship, Dead John Winchester, Detective Bobby Singer, Detective Dean Winchester, Detective Sam Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Kind of Endverse Cas, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-23 05:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13183332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myboisasstiel/pseuds/myboisasstiel
Summary: Dean Winchester, an FBI field agent, lost his brother Sam a year ago to a ruthless killer causing him to be dangerously unstable. Dean thought he could never be the same again, but when a year later a new lead shows up, pointing to a strange man named Castiel, Dean decides he needs to investigate. Is Castiel the man he claims to be? Can Dean put his work in front of his emotions?





	1. Chapter 1

Dean squinted his eyes at the early morning light streaming through the curtains. He laid there for at least 5 minutes, tracing patterns onto the mattress beneath him peacefully trying to calm himself. Honestly, he's surprised he didn't wake up with company, especially considering today and the copious amounts of alcohol he consumed last night, but of course, he's still alone. In a split second, he channelled all his energy into sitting up and smacking the blaring alarm he didn't even notice had been shrieking at him for last minute. Slowly, he brung his cold flask to his lips and took a burning swig. Breakfast. Forcing himself up, he begun to get changed for work almost robotically, trying to choose between his many variations of the same fucking suit. The FBI aren't ones who appreciate expression and originality, despite the sometimes expressive nature work itself. Dean can't help a small snort at the thought.

After he's dressed and showered, he begun to walk towards to door but stops to glance into the old cracked mirror on the wall. He stares into his own eyes, but all he can see is Sam. Long lost, sweet Sam who was taken from him this day last year. Everyone always told them they had the same color eyes, pale summer green. Dean Winchester was a broken man. Only his brother could fix him. He took another swig of his drink and pulled his coat over his shoulders, trying to shake the thought out of his head. He rushed outside, his breath steamy due to the harsh winter cold biting at every inch of his exposed skin, and climbs into his treasured Baby. He ran his hand over the smooth interior until he was met with a bump in the dash. He doesn't need to look to know what it says. D.W. and S.W. Him and his brother. A fond memory flashes in front of him, his younger self, maybe 14 and young Sammy carving their initials into the car, making themselves a part of her. Their dad had been furious at them for damaging the only valuable object they had in their miserable lives, but looking back now he doesn't regret it. He can't stop the flash of contorted limbs in his brains, the day they found him in that alleyway. Sweet, young Sammy. Too young.

Once again Dean bit the thought and begun to drive to the Kansas City FBI headquarters. Nobody will try and talk to him today, Sam was FBI too. They all know the tragedy of the newest agent and how his life got ripped from his fingers too, too young. Hell, there's a moment of silence and Dean begins to choke with laughter. All these people pretending like they knew Sammy the way he did, like his loss pained them and they didn't just carry on with their daily lives and pretend it never happened. It was just part of the job. Tears begin to wet his cheeks and he can't decide whether they're happy or sad, Sam would want him to be happy, but they both would have known that could never happen. Dean had never been a religious man, but he prayed to someone every day that his brother was somewhere peaceful, free from the lives and childhoods that haunted their dreams. Some small part of him was happy that Sam was free from the regular hell they had ingrained in their minds, but Dean knew he was a selfish man and he wanted his brother back. He would do anything.

As he pulled up into his designated parking spot, he wiped the tears from his eyes and ignored the already present stares of sympathy that were burning into him. Cutting like knives. He pushes his way through the masses to Meeting Room 34, where he knows his colleagues will be waiting. His team consists of three of the only people left on the planet Dean has any faith in. Bobby Singer, a grumpy man in his early 60s dedicated to the job and more of a father than John Winchester ever was. Bobby was his main influence towards becoming part of the FBI, as well as Sam. Dean regrets the blame he placed on Bobby just after Sam's death, he blamed himself, God and everyone in between that life had forsaken him with his shitty luck and he's surprised the man stuck around to support him after some of the horrible things he said. Charlie Bradbury was next on the list, a bubbly girl in her early 30s with striking red hair that could be seen from miles away. She also happens a lesbian and the closest friend Dean ever had. She backed him unconditionally when he lost Sam, would always excuse his excessive drinking and disrespect to others. She's the smartest person by far, a genius hacker that he's yet to see fail at whatever task she's been set, and he wouldn't trade her nerdy nature for the world. Finally, the newest recruit on their team, Kevin Tran. A young boy, just finished Uni and managed to get himself into the BAU and working with them in every case they get. He's awkward and gloomy and part of him really pisses Dean off, but he can't hate him for it. It reminds him of Sam. Dean's never really said much to Kevin due to what it brings up for Dean. The poor kid probably thinks he hates him.

He doesn't knock before entering, he lost his manners years ago. He plonks himself down on a chair and takes another heaping swig of his drink from his flash before tucking it back into his coat and stares at Bobby stood straight in front of him.  
"Well, how nice of you to join us, Sweetheart." He stops to smack Dean over the head with the god awful tatty hat he never takes off, "Where the hell you been, boy?" Dean shrugs, knowing Bobby's the only one who won't baby him today, the mans known Dean long enough to know it'll only irritate him. Charlie slides him a coffee across the table and he sips it as she slips some painkillers into his palm behind his back. She can tell instantly when Dean's been drinking and always looks after him. He stares out the window during briefing and wonders what the fuck he did to deserve these people who care so dearly about him.

* * *

He arrives home later that day, knowing he needn't stay at work as long as he did, but he knew the monster that was going to face him when he sat alone in dark, plagued by his own thoughts. Charlie had offered to sleep over and keep him company to try and distract him, but he knew he needed to be alone. He peeled off his coat and sat at the small kitchen table and began to pour himself a drink, swallowing down with one tip of the head. He grimaces at the taste of the cheap shit he brought from the convenience store in anticipation of tonight, but it's better than nothing. Slowly, the self-hatred begins to rise from the pit of his stomach, just as he expected. He rues the day he let them drop Sam's case. Unfortunate Accident. Bullshit. He knows someone killed his little brother and even since they dismissed the case he's constantly been looking through files and records to try and find at least some lead as to who took the innocent life, and he always ends up empty handed, nothing. It's almost as though the killers vanished into thin air. He cries out in blind anger and throws one of the glasses at the wall and watches it as it shatters into thousands of pieces, and puts his head in his hands. He can't help the lonely sobs that tear out of him and echo around the house, disappearing into nothing. He pours himself another drink and lets the cycle start again. Over and over. Drink after drink after drink until life is a hazy blur of colour and sound.

_Dean turns the corner on a street name he can't remember, running as fast as his legs will carry him. All that he can do is pray that the phone call is a fake, he'll get there and no one will be there, it will just be an empty alleyway. When he turns the next corner he always knows he's wrong. Police cars and vans are flooding the street along with civilians trying to catch a glimpse at whatever is causing a ruckus. When he reaches the barricade of people he beings to desperately shove through, flashing his badge to people in a desperate attempt to get them to leave. God knows, he wishes he never made it to the front of that crowd. There lied his little brother, contorted and twisted, his blood staining the porcelain snow beneath him. Blood pours from his mouth and nose and Dean didn't know when but he began to wail and scream, crawling over to his brother and wrapping his arms around him, rocking them both back and fourth. Policemen try and intervene, telling him it's a crime scene or whatever bullshit they think is okay when he's grieving his little brother. Little Sammy who he raised from his own blood, sweat and tears. He does all he can think of in that moment and weakly pull his gun, and he's immediately disarmed and dragged to the floor, dragged away from Sam. His Sammy. His baby brother._

Dean snaps awake at the shrill ringing out the telephone throughout the house, attacking his pounding head. He drunkenly stumbles over to where he left his phone only to be met with Bobby's gruff voice.  
"Dean we found something. Someone's come forward. They saw someone that day." Dean chokes a sob and hangs up the phone. He's going to get his revenge. It's about time.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean scrambled for his keys and jacket, desperately trying to pull them on as if this new found opportunity will disappear if he doesn't grasp it immediately. He knows he shouldn't be driving after how many bottles are scattered around the room, but he needs this. God he feels like he could cry, this is all he's wanted for the past year and finally it's like his dream has come true. He's going to get revenge for Sammy. Deep down he knows that's not what Sam would have wanted, but he's dead. Dead and gone just like the rest of his family, he needs to have some form of revenge. He rushes down the stairs of the building, his footsteps echoing around the desolate halls. After a struggle with the Baby's door he eventually manages to climb inside in the midst of his panic. Music blares at him and he's in too much of a fit to turn it down, he just needs to get there. A string of curses leave his mouth when the light turns red just as he approaches it, even now the world is trying to stop him finding out the truth about his brother.

When he finally arrives after what seems like an eternity, he sprints up the stairs faster than he can ever remember running in the past 10 years. He bursts into the room only to meet the surprised faces of all of his colleagues along with a random woman he's never seen before, shaking and sobbing. Charlie glares at him, probably regarding his insensitivity to the situation. Before he can say anything, he feels someone pull him into a tight hug from the side and he can immediately tell its Bobby, he would know Bobby anywhere.  
"We're finally gonna do, boy. We're gonna catch them." He lets go and playfully punches Dean's arm, a smile plastered on his face. All Dean can do is stare, the whole situation feels surreal.

He crouches down in front of the woman, whose makeup is fashionably smudged across her face from her incessant crying.  
"Hello Miss, I am the brother of the victim. I work here-" She cut him off by pulling him tight and crying into his shoulder, causing him to jolt in surprise.  
"I'm so sorry," she weeps, "I could have saved you so much pain." Dean turns to Charlie, knowing she'll explain to him. Jesus, what the fuck has his day been. Charlie turns her laptop around; displaying has a few shots of a man in grainy security camera quality.  
"She had the footage of this man turning the corner of the alleyway 5 minutes before the body was found. She's kept it for the past year, it all checks out. He's the only person on the footage," Charlie began to explain, "even if he isn't the killer, there's no way he didn't see the body." All Dean could feel was red hot anger bubbling over every inch of his body. How dare this man, killer or not, be so ignorant. These were the kind of people who made him want to throw up.

Everyone sits in silence for a few minutes, processing the weight of the information. This is it. Chances are, this man is their killer. Dean doesn't want to know, but he knows he needs to ask. He can't decide whether its panic or rage trying the burst out his body when he mutters the words,  
"Who is he?"  
"Castiel." That's all Charlie says. All that passes through his head is what the fuck is that supposed to mean?  
"Is that a gang or something?"  
"No this man. He's called Castiel. There's next to no information about him on our database. No drivers license, birth certificate. The only things we have about him are on security cameras across the country and a singular photo of the man, probably about 10 years old." The man has deep azure eyes that Dean can almost feel piercing into him, making him feel utterly powerless and his hair is dark and neat, although a little curly at the ends. Overall, he's one of the most attractive people Dean's ever seen, straight or not.  
"He was last seen in," Charlie interupts his thoughts, "Boone, North Carolina."

That's all he needs. He begins to put zip his coat up and fishes his keys out his pocket, but as he approaches the door, Bobby moves in front of it.  
"Bobby, what the fuck? Move it." He spits, too worked up to care about his delinquent attitude.  
"Dean...We had a vote and we all think it's for the best that if you skip this one, my boy." Oh god, his head is spinning. What the fuck? Why? Why? His head is screaming and he can't tell whether it's from the drink or what he just got told.  
"Bobby, Bobby. Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me?" Dean mumbles, disbelief threaded through his words. All of a sudden, Kevin perks up from the back of the room,  
"Dean, you have too much emotional involvement with the case. Time would be wasted that could be used to solve the crime quicker." In a split second, Dean closes his grasp around the kid's throat and slams him against the wall, the fear wide and frightened in Kevin's eyes, like a deer in headlights. Dean leans down as close as he can get to the boy's ear and whispers as softly as he can muster,  
"Fucking say that again. I dare you."  
"For god's sake leave him alone, Dean. This is what we were talking about," Bobby sighs, sympathy in his words, "Listen, as someone who cares about you. Go home. This isn't the one for you."

Dean releases his hold on Kevin and stares around the room, all eyes trained on him.  
"Fuck you," his voice breaks, "Fuck all of you." He storms out and slams the door behind him, not allowing his emotions to take control in front of the others. Like fuck he isn't going to avenge his brother. The drive home is like a filter, just a blur of things he can't afford to care about anymore.

He blunders up the stairs to his apartment and immediately begins to shove clothes and necessities into his gym back, taking out anything he doesn't need. Nothing apart from Sammy matters anymore. Just as he realises he forgot to shut the door, Charlie appears in the doorway.  
"Dean," it's all a haze, "Dean!" she snaps, capturing his attention. "Bobby lied...we didn't all vote to exclude you. This is why I'm here." Confusion must pass over his face because she rolls her eyes and presses a memory stick into his hand. "This contains everything the world knows about Castiel. I could probably write it on your finger it's that little but it's worth having it nonetheless. I miss him too. I know you need to do this Dean. I know you can do it." He can't help but pull her into a bone-crushing hug, a feeling of happiness bubbles inside him and he can't help but smile,  
"Thank you, Charlie," he pulled away quickly and zipped up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He, however, jumped when he felt a hand on his chest pushing him back, "Nuh-uh. No. You sleep for tonight. Castiel's been there for weeks, he's not going anywhere anytime soon. Plus you're still drunk," She looked at him pointedly and fuck, no one can say no to Charlie. He nods his head and pulls her into one more hug before collapsing on the bed, releasing how tired he is, his eyes dropping like weights.

* * *

The first conscious thought Dean can muster is fuck. His head is begging for mercy. He squints his eyes open only to see a bottle of water and some painkillers on his bedside table along with a note pinned down.

_Dean,_

_You fucker, you're probably dying about now, so I thought I would be the generous soul that I am and leave you some painkillers. Breakfast is in the kitchen. Remember to call me and for god's sake remember to call me AND LOOK AFTER YOURSELF._

_Love, Charlie xx_

He can't help but chuckle at the scruffy handwriting and crude insults and for the first time in a year, he feels like he truly has a purpose.


	3. Chapter 3

Before he knows it, Dean is on the road driving to wherever the fuck Boone, North Carolina is. It's sure as hell never somewhere he's heard of before, but he's glad to be out on the open roads, currently free of any responsibility that could burden him, Classic Rock blaring from the radio. If he did the math right, which is highly unlikely, he should arrive in around a day. Just a day of him and his Baby, cruising through the states. God, he missed this. The smooth drive brings up childhood memories; some he can look back and smile upon, others hold more of a sadistic twist. Years ago, Sam and Dean would be ushered around in this goddamn car, John Winchester at the steering wheel. Dean would never call him his father, despite the uncanny similarities between the two of them. After his mother Mary died in a freak fire at night when he was 4, John turned to drugs when his children needed him most and became a delusional psychopath, dragging them across to country to hunt monsters made up in his own head, trying to get them to do the same. He would constantly try and train them to fight these things that go bump in the night, but that meant pulling them from school and their educations. For years, he continued like this until Dean was 16 and they found him one random October day with a bullet in his head. Suicide. After that Bobby offered to take both of them in and got them set up with proper education and real beds for the first time in over a decade, and that was something Dean would never be able to repay him for. Guilt plagued him for leaving without telling Bobby and the other friends he had within the agency, hell, they'll probably worry he's following in John's footsteps. His hands clench on the steering wheel.

Dean dedicated his own childhood to making sure Sammy had one. John had expected them to cook, clean and survive on their own, in and out of moth bitten hotel rooms and stained bed sheets. Watching John drag along a toothpick slim Sammy, with a look of discomfort and sadness on his face became too much to bear often; now that he thinks back, Dean and John fought a lot. Angry words flashed between them like bullets, wounding one and other, alcohol-induced insults they could never take back. Dean will never forget those words; I wish I left you in that fire and took Mary instead. From that moment on Dean never felt anything but hatred towards the man named John Winchester and he can never remember a time when felt any different.

He tries not to swerve the car as he lets out a silent sob because deep down he knows he has nobody to care for him, and he never really did.

* * *

When he first arrives in Boone it's coated in darkness, the only light seeping from windows and cracks in the seemingly ancient buildings. He doesn't blame whoever this Castiel man is though, it has a certain charm to it. He pulls into a car park just outside of a building with a giant flashing sign saying The Roadhouse. There's no point in trying to find Castiel tonight, hell he's probably asleep, at this time normally so would Dean. He strolls in to unexpectedly find the place jam packed with every sort of person you could ever expect to see, loud obnoxious talking leaking from every corner of the place, along with the most god-awful music he's ever heard. After sliding onto a bar stool, he's met with a small blonde woman, probably in her early twenties. Despite all this, she still looks like she could knock his teeth out.

"What'll you have?" She grumbles as though she has somewhere better to be and Dean just rolls his eyes, being FBI he knows what it's like to deal with difficult people.  
"Whatever's on tap," he slides her $10, "keep the change, tough shift?" With that, her shoulders seem to slacken and she nods, suppressing a smile.  
"You wouldn't even know."

He spends the next few hours in the bar, what he considers to be slowly drinking, but when it gets to around 2:45 and he tries to stand he realises he may have drunk more than he cared to admit, even to himself. He hears the bargirl shout out to him as he begins to fumble towards the door, the crowd that was there when he arrived having now dispersed, only leaving a few pool players remaining. It took all of his mental strength to find the door and he used every ounce of his weight to shove it open, before undoubtedly collapsing into a heap on the stones. The last thing he can recall is a gruff 'Sir, are you alright?' before he completely blacks out.

* * *

Dean wakes to the familiar aching in his head, crying out demanding to know why he's done this to himself yet again. The only difference between this and the other times is he has no fucking clue where he is. He's in a small cluttered room filled with every single knick-knack any person could possibly want or need on the most horrifically uncomfortable orange sofa he thinks he's ever known. There's also a few cupboards and a counter housing a coffee-machine, which is probably the most expensive thing there. The door is painted a vomit educing shade of green, lime and tacky to match perfectly with the violet painted walls. Before Dean can stand up and try and escape the dizzying colours, the door swings open to reveal the most beautiful blue eyes Dean has ever laid eyes upon. They're an ocean that anyone could get lost in if they stared too long and create a sickening sense of peace deep down in the cauldron of his stomach. He can barely focus on anything until a sharp,

"Hello, Dean," cuts through the tension. Dean shakes his head and looks at the man in more detail before mumbling out a quick response. "You fell at my feet yesterday when I was coming for my shift and I couldn't just leave you there in the dark. You're in the back room at the Roadhouse. Stay as long as you need and there's coffee in the machine if you would like it." And with that, he was gone, almost a quick as he came.

It took Dean nearly half an hour and 2 cups of coffee to find the will to move and start his day with his newly acquired goal. He stares into a dusty mirror on the wall that looks like it hasn't been cleaned in his entire lifetime and sorts himself out, trying to make his shabby flannel look at least somewhat presentable. When he's pleased, he makes his way into the main bar, which is only filled with a few early morning drinkers and passes the man who spoke to him earlier, who throws him his wallet.  
"That's how I knew your name just in case you were wondering, Dean Winchester." Dean can't help but feel mildly invaded at the use of his full name, but nods politely and makes his leave.

It's only when he slams the door of the car and sits in silence does he realise the man he just came face to face with was Castiel.


	4. Chapter 4

Panic was all that rose through Dean's body. Oh god, that man could have murdered my brother. He felt the uncontrollable urge to vomit, rolling down the window so he could get some fresh air into his lungs. He doesn't know how he missed those striking blue eyes when they pierced into him, but Dean knows that from this moment on they're something he's never going to forget. Millions of ideas raced through his head, he can't bloody well just walk into the bar again and look Castiel in the eyes with an oh hey did you murder my younger brother? No, he decided that if he's going to stay here he needs to get to know the place, get to know the people, maybe ask them about Castiel?

Alerted by his agitated stomach, growling at him demanding some sort of food, he makes it his first priority to find someplace to eat, there's got to be a good burger joint somewhere in this ancient town. He spends half an hour cruising through the streets in search of anywhere which looks like it could have any living inhabitants, without much luck, only spotting a few old ladies dawdling along the road, eyeing Baby up and down suspiciously. In a stroke of luck, he spots the fresh looking blonde who served him last night and begins to slow down, driving cautiously beside her. He can't help but look her up and down, she was a little younger than him, but it wasn't the first time Dean had been with someone like that.  
"Hey there..." He desperately searching his mind for a name he was sure he knew, only to be met with a rolling pair of eyes,  
"Jo? Jo Harvelle." She added firmly before snapping, "Yes, I served you last night, what do you want?"  
"Woah, easy tiger," he chided, "I just wanted to know if you knew where there was a good burger joint around here?" She scoffed before staring at him pointedly,  
"You were in one, but it looks like you left. If you come back I'll fix you one up," she narrowed her eyes, "as long as you got the cash to pay for it." He nodded at her; but to what surprised him is her nonchalant stroll around the other side of the car, before clambering in and slamming the door so hard he could hear the glass shudder. Before he could scold her she looked at him expectantly, "Get a move on then."

* * *

As they pulled up outside the Roadhouse, Dean could feel the same toxic sickness build up in his throat and he felt as though he was coated in a rivers worth of sweat. He wasn't sure if he was ready to face Castiel again yet, what was he supposed to say to the guy? He was supposed to be befriending him, but he doubted he could keep his cool around him just yet. He was dragged out of his thoughts by a shrill shout which he presumed was Jo telling him to get a move on,

"I swear to god are you- hey, you're not looking so hot," she mumbled as her eyes widened in confusion, "are you alright?" He nodded hastily, unable to form a coherent sentence due to the lack of saliva in his mouth. Silently, he followed her into the bar trying to regain his composure.

The bar was almost empty, apart from a few lonely alcoholics littered around in various, moth-bitten corners. His attention was immediately drawn to a mop of dark brown hair, crouched in front of a cupboard and sighing in frustration.  
"Cassie! Oh, Cassie!" Jo sang as she bounced up to the man, hastily slinging an arm around him causing his shoulders to tense up. He blew a lock of overgrown hair out of his face revealing a deep knit scowl,  
"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Cas?" he responded gruffly.  
"Not enough yet, Cassie!" She practically squealed before rushing into the kitchen before he could retaliate, "I've got a burger to make, entertain our guest Cassie!" She shouted from the other room. Castiel sighed again and ran his hands over his apron, straightening it out before looking Dean in the eyes, causing him to flinch.  
"Would you like a drink?" he asked, his owl eyes still piercing into Dean. He shook his head before coughing,  
"Oh erm...yeh whatever's on tap..." he paused before reluctantly adding, "please." Cas poured him a drink sliding it over the counter as the two men stood there in awkward silence. What could Dean say to the man suspected of killing his brother? The air was interrupted by ACDC ringing out through the mostly silent pub, causing a blush to rise in Dean's cheeks as Cas tried to stifle a chuckle. He saw the name Bobby just before he answered and prepared himself for the storm that was about to follow.

"DEAN WINCHESTER WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN BOY?" crashed through the speaker, causing even Cas to flinch from at least 3ft away, but his face was still laced with a hint of a smirk. Before Dean could reply he was interrupted, "What the hell do you think you're doing? Running off and taking a case on your own like that! We can't even send any agents in now ya idjit." Dean huffed and made sure Bobby could hear it before growling,  
"Well makes sense, this is my case. It always was my case."  
"Boy, I don't care about who takes the case," he could hear Bobby's voice soften, "I thought you'd bitten a bullet after you weren't at home and your gun was gone." Regret pooled in Dean's stomach, he knew Bobby would be angry, but he hadn't taken anything else into account.  
"Bobby...I'm sorry," he sighed,  
"I know you are, ya idjit. Just keep us updated okay? The case is yours as long as you do it proper. Shit, i gotta go. See you round, son."  
"Bye," he mumbled dejectedly before hanging up the call, only to be met by Cas staring at him still.  
"Case? You an Officer?" he asked inquisitively, tilting his head.  
"Used to be," he muttered slowly, he had to be cautious about this, if Cas had evaded capture for this long, chances are he's a genius, "I work as a mechanic now." That wasn't totally a lie, one of the few useful skills John Winchester taught him was how to fix up cars, and he had practically built Baby up from the floor up and he still did odd jobs for friends when he could.

Before Cas could reply Jo burst in, ruffling Cas' hair on the way past. Fuck, Dean thought, when did Castiel become Cas. She slid Dean his burger before swinging her legs over the counter, balancing on the edge.  
"Thanks, Harvelle," he scoffed before digging in.  
"You're welcome, Winchester," she said slyly; Dean guessed both her and Cas had checked his ID, that or he had been spouting shit when he was drunk. "You got anywhere to stay, Winchester, you crashed in our backroom last night so I'm gonna guess no." Dean shook his head in response, his mouth full of food.  
"Cassie? Don't you have a spare room in your apartment?"  
"Jo I don't think-"  
"You just said yesterday you wished you had a roommate. Rents a bitch. Well, it's settled then," she clasped her hands together and glanced at both of them. He could see Cas gulp and Dean realised him and Cas would be getting to know one and other a lot sooner than he anticipated.


	5. Chapter 5

Three days later, Dean was surrounded by plain plaster walls, bare and stripped back in preparation for their new host, him. Jo had been so persistent that he moved in with Castiel, she had arranged everything; helped them split the rent, Dean move in and even found him a place close by where he could park Baby. All of this and he was still no closer to knowing the stranger that he could hear clumsily pottering around the bathroom, turning taps on and off. Well, he thought, this is one way to get to know him. Dean felt as though he had been thrown in at the deep end with not enough rope to pull himself back to shore and if his current information is correct, the man who sleeps in the room next door is a cold hearted killer, capable of evading capture for a year. All the mystery and he can't help but think does Cas, the awkward introverted man who works the nightshift and the Roadhouse, really have the stomach to stab someone to death and walk away with not a scratch. He certainly doesn't look- No, he cuts that thought off immediately. Being FBI, Deans worked his fair share of gruelling murders, things that you see at 1am when the lights are out and put you off your lunch for weeks. The most memorable was a seemingly innocent old lady in her late 60s, who over her lifetime had killed over 7 people and turned out to be a raging cannibal. If she could take down grown men, then Cas certainly could.

He must have zoned out because when his focus is drawn to the door, Cas is stood there with wet hair stuck up like he had been struck by lightning, wide eyes peering around the door,  
"I'm...um...making scrambled eggs. Would you like some?" His voice was still laced with sleep, causing it to be husky and even lower than normal. It takes Dean a minute to register the question, leaving Cas to awkwardly twiddle his thumbs, obviously extremely uncomfortable. Eventually, he manages a curt nod, spurring Cas to flee the room as quickly as he can. The cringe of the penultimate events washes over him and he can't help but shudder as he realises how much that sucked. _God, I've always sucked at small talk_. How is he supposed to find out the truth about Cas if he can't even interact with him like a normal human being? He guessed it wasn't entirely his fault, from what he had seen from Cas for far he knew there was some kind of underlying personal issue, anxiety or something of the same irk. He thought it was safe to say when him and Cas met at the bar the other night he was at least mildly intoxicated. To Dean, this was just all more evidence that this man could have mercilessly slaughtered his brother.

He's aroused from his thoughts when the thick smell of smoke wafts under the door, attacking his nostrils and throat causing him to splutter. He beings to walk to the kitchen where he sees Cas, stood on the counter waving and gently swearing at a blaring fire alarm, while a burnt mess sits in the pan on the oven, which he presumed was once scrambled eggs.  
"Cas! CAS!" Dean shouted and waves, trying to grab the other man's attention, who seemed to be slowly getting angrier and the out of control alarm. In a split second, he unintentionally smacks the annoyance, causing it to smash onto the floor and cutting his finger on the casing in the process. _Jesus, this man is a mess_ is all that Dean can think as he tries to comprehend the catastrophe he just witnessed. When Cas eventually looked up, blood rose to his face at the sight of Dean and realising another living human had watched the events that had just unfolded. Before Cas can say anything Dean cuts him off,  
"Just go sort your hand out. I'll sort this mess out," he mumbles running his hand through his hair and motions to the door. A look that Dean would dare to call shame passes over Cas' face as he looks down and quickly vanishes from sight.

* * *

Half an hour later, Cas and Dean are sat across the table from each other, thoroughly enjoying the perfectly seasoned eggs Dean had prepared. Growing up with a nearly absent father, he had learned how to cook for himself and Sammy from a young age; better that than spend their entire lives living off Lunchables and bad microwave popcorn. He watched Cas across the table, enjoying every mouthful he can muster looking like this was the best meal he'd ever eaten. Suddenly, a choked laugh beings to rise in Dean's throat, making Cas look up his face screaming with alarm.

"Jesus man," he snorts, "how does someone manage to fuck up scrambled eggs that bad?" And all of a sudden he can't stop laughing, shouting it out in short bursts with tears forming at the corners of his eyes. Eventually, he hears a low chuckle ring out across from him and before he can stop the two of them are crying out with laughter, smacking fists on the table and making their stomachs ache. It must be at least 10 minutes before him and Cas both calm down ignoring the small snigger that could erupt at any time.

For a few moments, they sat in comfortable silence and for the first time in a long time Dean felt truly peaceful. He hadn't laughed like that since...well, since he lost Sammy. The sombre thought brings him back to reality as Cas beings to catch his breath.  
"Seriously Dude, did your parents ever even start teaching you to cook?" He says with a sigh and in a split second he knows he just ruined whatever progress he had made in the past hour spent with Cas, as he sees the man tenses every muscle in his body and stares down at his plate, a grimace on his face.  
"Did I bring something up? Jesus, Cas. Sorry I didn't-"  
"Leave your plate in the sink, I'll wash it up when i get home. I have to get ready for work," he mumbles almost inaudibly as he gets up and vacates to him room, softly closing the door behind him. As the soft click sounds all he can think is _fuck_. This was going to be harder than he thought.


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel Novak (that's what Dean had learned his full name was) was a very peculiar man. He couldn't cook to save his life, took about three baths a day, happened to be a rampant insomniac and Dean swore every night at exactly 2am he took about 5 pills with a shot of whiskey. Dean assumed his previous ideas about Cas' mental health were true when he looked through his bathroom cabinet and found bundles of different anti-depressants and drugs for various other things; he hadn't had the chance to talk to him about it yet, but he would soon enough. He wasn't a bad roommate, he was kept himself to himself and was quiet but in a sort of humbling, peaceful way. However, this was not good news for Dean. He wasn't here to make friends, he was here to track down his brother's killer and Cas being unobtrusive was the opposite of what he needed. Everything about the man was a mystery, he checks up with Charlie regularly to see if any new information has been added or if he found out anything of value. He had been living with him for upwards of a month now and he still knew little more than his name, age, job, that he was clinically depressed and that his favourite breakfast food was pancakes with maple syrup. Castiel Novak was a closed book.

One morning in late January, Dean and Cas sat opposite each other, enjoying the pancakes Dean had woken up early to make as Cas' shift started at 7:30 that morning. Quicker than Dean could blink, Cas' fast-paced muttering broke the silence,  
"You've been living here for a month now, Rent's on a monthly basis. You technically owe me this month's cash, but you haven't got a job yet. You should get a job," that last bit sounded almost thoughtful like it was an epiphany.  
"What jobs even exist in this washed up old town?" Dean looked up, speaking with a mouthful of pancake, only to watch Cas squirm at the sight and shake his head,  
"Not much. Didn't you say you were trained as a mechanic? You could ask Rufus for a job. He owns a garage downtown." In Dean's mind, it was settled, he wasn't going to work at any old place and a garage seemed to fit him perfectly. He and Cas ate the rest of their meal in silence.

 

* * *

The next morning, he found himself stood in front of a  _rustic_ looking building, the sign saying  _RUFUS' AUTOMOBILES_ tilted at an odd angle. The remaining winter frost still bit at his fingertips causing them to be numb and raw; he let out a long drawn out exhale. Cas had been kind enough to help him sort out a CV of sorts, listing all the previous work experience he had, which quite frankly didn't consist of a lot. The only job Dean had ever had other than working for the FBI had been at a shitty corner shop for 3 months so he could buy Sammy his Christmas presents. Cas has warned him that Rufus was eccentric, that he could come off as rude and abrasive but then revealed that he was, in fact, a nice old man whom he had many interesting conversations with.

He pushed the creaky door open to reveal a curled up old man hunched over a large, messy book, and the work  _nice_ seemed to slip his mind. His brows were furrowed in thick concentration and bared a face littered with scars, looking like he had been attacked by some sort of animal.  
"Erm, Excuse me-" Dean began, before the man he guessed was Rufus, leaped out of his skin and glared at him before snapping,  
"Jesus boy, you wanna give the elderly a heart attack? What the bloody hell you lookin' for around here?"  
"I came to inquire about a job..." he thrust his CV forward into mid-air hoping that Rufus was still in the mood to take it. He was surprised to find Rufus just waved his hand dismally,  
"I don't need that. You ever work with cars before, boy?" he raised his eyebrows in what seemed like suspicion as he eyed Dean up and down. Dean felt as though he was under interrogation, only letting out a short, sharp nod. "Well, then you're hired!" Rufus smacked the book happily, causing years' worth of dust to flood out of its pages.

Rufus set him to work immediately, fixing up ancient cars to see if they could make a bit of profit to fix up the run-down place in desperate need of some TLC. The only other employee at the shack was a young rocker named Ash, who thrived off the mullet that made Dean want to throw up in his mouth. Other than the horrific haircut, he was pleasant enough company and had a good few stories to tell, some so extravagant Dean began to suspect they weren't entirely true. They rarely saw Rufus, the man only popped his head in twice throughout the whole day to tell them that kettle had been boiled. Overall, he enjoyed it, getting hands-on with classic cars made him reminisce about the few enjoyable parts of childhood, which he still cherished to this day.

By the time he got off work, the moon was high in the sky and darkness blanketed the town, which seemed to come alive at night. All of the townspeople that seem to hide during the day ventured out at night, crawling into the glowing bars and pubs; music dancing down the dimly lit streets. He watched as women in dresses so short it was almost cruel sauntered past, looking him up and down as they did. Before Dean could make it to his and Cas' building, he couldn't help but turn around and head into a bar very different from The Roadhouse. It was dark, in an almost chilling way, with music blaring loud over the people who weren't talking, only sat in small dingy corners getting  _favours_ from others. His sense told him it was a shady place as soon as he entered, but as he was about to exit he was approached by a thrilling brunette, who danced her way up to him and batted her round eyes up at him, oddly the same crystalline blue of Cas'. In the moment he couldn't resist, taking her hand a pulling her down the street, the only noise now being their small, excited giggles making them feel like naughty school children again. Dean fought with the door, eventually tugging the woman into the empty apartment, grinning at the events that were sure to follow.

                                                                     

* * *

When Dean woke the next morning icy light filtered through the curtains and his whole body felt like he had run a marathon, but when his thoughts trailed back to the events of last night he couldn't help the smirk that surfaced on his face. It's only when his vision focused that he realised that he wasn't in his room.  _He was in Cas' room._ A feeling of guilt washed over him as he sheepishly got up only to realise he was alone, whoever he had slept with had left. Holly? Harley? He didn't really care; it was very important that he apologised to Cas.

Emerging from Cas' room, he was met with an odd sight. Cas and the girl he slept with last night sat across the table from one and other, each sipping coffee with their eyes glancing around the room desperately attempting to avoid eye contact. He let out a small cough, startling both of them and causing them to stare daggers at him making him feel under attack. He throws a pointed look towards Cas hoping for an explanation.  
"Dean, I'm guessing you know Hannah...We work at The Roadhouse together," he mumbled almost incoherently. Now Dean felt like even more of an asshole. Not only had he brought a girl home and slept with her in his bed, Cas knew this girl and spoke to her on a practically daily basis.

The trio sat in excruciating silence before Hannah finally announced that she had to leave and get ready for work, causing both Cas and Dean to let out visible sighs of relief. As soon as he heard the door close he bounded forward, taking the other man by surprise with his desperate apology.  
"Listen man, I'm so sorry. I didn't realise it was your room and it was dark and I was too stupid to turn the lights on. Dude, I'm really-" Cas cut him off,  
"It's fine Dean," he took a deep inhale, "I suppose we all have our needs." Dean had an inkling that Cas wasn't really happy with his late-night shenanigans but was too polite to say so, but before he can bring said topic up he notices the bottle of caffeine pills on the table.  
"Dude, did you even sleep?"  
"No. I got home at 3 and I didn't want to invade your privacy so I watched a documentary about bees and how the honey is extracted from beehives." Dean couldn't help but snort.

It took a couple of hours for the initial discomfort to wear off, but before long the two of them were sat side by side on the couch watching another stupid documentary Cas seemed to find favourable. Dean, not being one to choose his words carefully, suddenly burst out,  
"So who are the town sluts?" Cas choked on his popcorn.  
"Town  _what?_ "  
"Town sluts!" Dean exclaimed, "you know, the people who sleep around." Dean could practically see the anger beginning to boil underneath Cas' skin.  
"And what exactly makes a town slut?" he spat, his eyes burning holes into Dean.  
"Woah dude, relax. Just the people who sleep with a lot of people. You don't need to get so offended, hey, I'm a town slut!"  
"Stop calling them that," Cas growled.  
"Okay jeez!" he held his hands up in surrender, "what you got a problem? Are you a virgin?"   
"No, Dean, I am not a virgin. You shouldn't call people that, you don't know what they're being put through," Cas began to stand up, marching to the front door. Before he could make it there, Dean reached out and grabbed his arm which caused part of his finger to slide under Cas' sleeves. To his surprise, he was met with soft scarred skin, but not scarred in the way he expected. They were burn scars. Old scars. As Cas yanked his arm away swiftly, Dean swore he saw pinpricks of tears in his eyes before he left.

In the month Dean had been living there, that was the most Cas had ever said to him, but whatever he had just found led him to believe that Castiel Novak was a bigger case than he thought.


End file.
